You Fell Asleep in the Back Seat and Someone Carried You In

The Short Answer

Many people who grew up in the 1960s, 70s and 80s remember falling asleep in the back of the family car on the way home and waking up in their own bed. Before car seat laws, kids rode across bench seats or in the "way back" of the station wagon, and a parent would carry a sleeping child from the driveway to bed.

The Drive Home in the Dark

It was usually after a long day. A visit to grandparents, a cookout at an aunt's house, a trip to the lake, a late church supper. The grown-ups said goodbye for what felt like an hour, and then everyone piled into the car.

The radio played low. The dashboard glowed. The streetlights passed over the ceiling one after another, and the hum of the tires did the rest.

The Way Back

If your family had a station wagon, you remember the way back. Many big wagons of the 1970s had a third seat behind the second row, and on some of them it faced out the rear window, so you could watch the cars behind you and wave at the drivers.

On long trips, kids stretched out back there on blankets and pillows. It was a bed, a playroom and a fort, all at once.

No Car Seats Yet

It's hard to picture now, but for years most kids rode without car seats, and often without seat belts. Tennessee became the first state to require car seats for young children in 1978, and by 1985 every state had a child car seat law. Seat belt laws for grown-ups followed, starting with New York in 1984.

Those laws have kept a great many children safe. They also changed the ride home for good: the days of curling up across the whole back seat were over.

Pretending to Be Asleep

Plenty of us remember pretending. You were awake when the car pulled into the driveway, but you kept your eyes shut anyway, because you knew what came next. The door would open, the cool night air would come in, and somebody would lift you up and carry you inside.

Carried to Bed

You felt the arms, the steps, the creak of the stairs. Your shoes came off. A blanket came up to your chin. Sometimes you heard a quiet "goodnight" before the hall light went out.

It happened on Halloween night, too, when little legs gave out on the last street and someone carried you home, costume and all.

The Last Time

Nobody tells you which time is the last time someone carries you in. One night you're small enough, and not long after you're too big, and you walk inside on your own, half asleep.

If you've done the carrying since, for your own kids or grandkids, you know it from the other side now. It's heavier than it looks, and it's worth every step.